


Full In Heart

by MyresLight



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Background Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Childhood, Complicated Relationships, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Mental Instability, Minor Injuries, Paranoia, Platonic Relationships, Sibling Bonding, elvish spouses have a 0 percent chance of dying in childbirth, feanor/nerdanel - Freeform, findis/original female character, fingolfin/anaire - Freeform, finwe has a 100 percent spouse mortality and so should not be counted in the statistical average, me glocking finarfin and irime: soz kids but this is the price for your brothers to like each other, minor relationships include but are not limited to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyresLight/pseuds/MyresLight
Summary: Yes, Fëanáro thought, I can do that. I can care for him.After all, he’s just like me.In an AU where Indis died following the birth of Fingolfin, this has profound changes on the relationship between Finwe's sons.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë & Findis, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	Full In Heart

**Author's Note:**

> i tried my Very Best with dates and timelines but at some point you just have you assume creative license and throw canon out the window!

A dark cloud had settled over Tirion.

Fëanáro sat alone in his room. Since Indis unexpectedly went into labour five hours ago, he had been deposited in his bedroom while all the other servants rushed to assist his step-mother. Not long after that, the rain had started, and Fëanáro slumped against his window, watching the paths that the rain drops took.

The silence was broken by gentle knocking on the door.

His father’s servant, Néndion, Fëanáro remembered his name was, entered the room very slowly, a small baby cradled in his arms.

Fëanáro turned away, face twisted in anger. What did he care if a new baby was here? Findis had been born nine years ago, and all she did was cry.

Staring out into the garden, all Fëanáro could think is that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t _fair._ How could his father just forget about his mother that easily? Would he be replaced too? It seemed that way at times. Everyone had rejoiced over Findis’ birth. _She_ wasn’t a product of Arda marred.

Fëanáro was so caught up in his own thoughts, he almost missed the grieved look on Néndion’s face. But when he looked up and met the other Elda’s gaze, a dark feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He later realised it was dread.

“Fëanáro, you should know that your step-mother…” Néndion trailed off, looking as if he didn’t know how to complete the sentence. Fëanáro realised then that something very bad had happened. The room suddenly felt incredibly cold.

Néndion took a deep breath before he continued, “Your step-mother, Lady Indis, became very sick during the birth. I…no one knows what happened but… Her _f_ _ëa_ has passed on.”

The rain kept falling. The baby kept fussing about in Néndion’s arms, and Fëanáro realised that the other Elda was scared.

Fëanáro couldn’t help that a very petty part of him, larger than he would ever admit, was glad. He had never loved Indis; she was not the one who bore him, who loved him. Let it teach his father to so easily replace his mother. Teach the Noldor to so easily replace their queen. Teach Findis—

_Oh_ , Fëanáro realised, _Findis_.

Shame found him then. Because his half-sister was gentle, and small. And now she would know the loss that he had to bear, the sideways looks and the whispers that came with it. The curse of Melkor. He may not like his half-sister, but no one deserved that.

His father had just lost a second wife.

He felt sick.

“Fëanáro,” the other Elda spoke up, breaking Fëanáro out of his dark thoughts, “this is your little brother.”

Néndion brought the baby closer, and Fëanáro instinctively held out his arms before he realised that they were moving.

“He is yet unnamed, but he needs you all the same.”

The baby was lighter than he remembered Findis being. Not that he had ever held her for long.

The small boy in his arms reached up, eyes closed and tiny fists grasping at his hair. Fëanáro felt a very strong emotion settle in his chest, and he had the great desire to protect the small life that was only hours old.

_Yes_ , Fëanáro thought, _I can do that. I can care for him._

_After all, he’s just like me_.

* * *

Ñolofinwë was eight months old and had not laughed.

It made the palace feel even more like a tomb.

After Indis’ death, their servants had steadily left Finwë’s employ, until only three other Eldar were left to ensure the palace was kept functional enough to host dignitaries.

Not that many had visited.

The death of two nissi so close together, in the same manner, wedded to the same Elda, had cast a shadow upon the royal family. The whispers that they were cursed only grew as more time passed, and Finwë remained reclusive and shut away in his house.

It was as if the shadow of Melkor haunted their every step.

After naming his son, Finwë had all but locked himself in his quarters, failing to respond to anyone save his eldest. But even Fëanáro received little more than one word answers.

This made the care of Ñolofinwë difficult.

As soon as Ñolofinwë was weaned, the wet nurse had all but fled. The only ones who still came were Fëanáro and Findis’ tutors, and servants charged with the preparation of their food.

Findis wept almost constantly, painfully aware of the gap her mother had left. Fëanáro didn’t know whether or not to be jealous that she knew her enough to miss.

With no servants, no friends, and no parents, the only one who took any remote interest in Ñolofinwë was Fëanáro. Surprising none more than Fëanáro himself.

And the latest task he gave himself was to make Ñolofinwë laugh.

That week, it took the form of a feather toy he had made, trying entertain Ñolofinwë with the various colours he had painted on. But the small child only reached up to the bright feathers, trying to snatch at them.

“Come on Ñolo, why won’t you laugh?”

Fëanáro had started shortening Ñolofinwë’s name both because he resented that his half-brother got to carry their father’s name as well, but also because ‘wise Finwë’ felt like a very heavy title for a new born.

Fëanáro felt his patience fray at the child’s continued silence, “Ñolo, please can you just laugh _once._ ”

He bent towards Ñolofinwë’s face, at loss for what to do, and his dark hair fell over his shoulder and onto Ñolo’s face.

Then, it was as if the physical weight of silence lifted from their home, and Ñolo giggled.

Fëanáro pulled back, shocked, “Ñolo?”

His brother started reaching towards Fëanáro in earnest, trying to grab at the hair so similar to his own.

Catching on, Fëanáro reach back down, gathering a bunch of hair into his hand and running it across Ñolo’s face.

Ñolo’s cries were bright and merry, and Fëanáro felt himself laugh in return, hair dancing up and down.

“See? Isn’t that funny, _pia hanno!_ ”

And, for the first time, Fëanáro looked at his brother and felt love.

Ñolo laughed again.

* * *

Fëanáro sat in the smaller dining room that served as the family’s more informal location for meals. He was trying to feed Ñolo his breakfast, but his brother hadn’t slept the night before, and each attempt to get the food into his mouth only ended in spillage on the table, Ñolo, and Fëanáro himself.

They had been at the table for over an hour, and his patience had reached the end of its admittedly short rope. He wanted to go outside to play in the sun. He didn’t want to be stuck indoors with a job that should not have been his.

“I hate him.”

Fëanáro turned to where Findis watched from the doorway.

“He killed _amm_ _ë_. I hate him.”

Fëanáro turned back to his brother, “No. You don’t.”

“I do!” Findis cried, voice shrill and laced with conviction. “If it wasn’t for him, mother would still be alive and father would still speak to me and I would be happy!”

Ñolo had started to cry as Findis’ yells only grew in volume. Fëanáro was tired, and angry, and sad. He could shout too.

“ _Do you hate me?_ ”

Findis quieted instantly, stunned by the noise. Her eyes were wide.

“If I hadn’t been born, father would never have married Indis and you would have been born to a nice, perfect family in Valmar and your mother would still be alive. So do you hate me?”

She gave a slight shake of her head, whispering quietly, “No.”

“ _Then don’t hate Ñolo for what wasn’t his fault!_ ”

Findis nodded, tears running down her face.

Fëanáro turned back, but Ñolo was too wound up for him to even attempt to finish the meal. He would have to walk with him until he calmed down or went to sleep, and try again later. Fëanáro could have wept.

He realised that Findis was still there, body heaving with the sobs she was trying to suppress, and Fëanáro started to feel guilty.

Findis had only voiced what he had long felt. More than that, she was likely lonely, and didn’t truly mean what she had said. Just finding the harshest words so someone could respond to her, notice her. He had reacted poorly.

Fëanáro knew then that Findis and he were more similar than he first thought.

“I’m sorry for shouting. I know you just miss your mother. It’s alright if you’re sad, I miss my mother too.”

With a second’s pause, Findis threw herself onto Fëanáro’s lap, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Fëanáro! I don’t hate him really, I just wish _amm_ _ë_ was here!”

He patted her back, feeling more than a little out of his depth. Ñolo sat and watched on.

“It’s alright Findis. It’s going to be alright.”

The three of them remained at the table for a long time.

* * *

He had Ñolo balanced in one arm, with the other hand tight around Findis’ wrist, dragging her through the streets. Both of them were in tears.

The day had started off well enough. Tired of their silent home, Fëanáro wanted to take Ñolo out for a walk, hopefully down to the beach.

Findis was there because, ever since the ‘breakfast incident’ as Fëanáro had taken to calling it, she had latched herself onto her elder brother, following him everywhere. Fëanáro didn’t even mind that much, because ever since she came around to the idea of Ñolofinwë, caring for the child had become significantly easier.

That and she added some much-needed cheer into their lives.

Unfortunately, the walk to the beach had not gone to plan.

Fëanáro wanted to skirt around Tirion to avoid the long, confusing streets and the glares that tended to follow them wherever they went.

But Findis had wanted to see Galathilion up close, and Fëanáro didn’t want to spoil her good mood.

In the future, he would have to be firmer.

The glares came, and with them the whispers, and the further into Tirion they went, the more outspoken people grew.

It had culminated when Findis had tried to buy a hand mirror from one of the many market stalls when Fëanáro was occupied with repositioning Ñolo’s sling.

The stall owner took one look at Findis, with her Noldor features and Vanyar colouring, and immediately moved to stop her approach.

“No, child. There is a curse upon you. You bring ill fate upon us.”

That caused most of the surrounding Eldar to turn to her, at which point many moved away. And Findis stood there, for the first time realising what the world thought of her.

The tears started slowly as she remained frozen in place. Then the hiccupping sobs began, finally alerting Fëanáro as to what had happened.

He had turned and, seeing Findis, immediately realised what had happened, hurrying over to grab her before she ran off alone.

With a glare of his own sent to the stall owner, Fëanáro turned down the least crowded street with the hope that it would lead them home, or the to the forest, or anywhere where they wouldn’t have to see anyone else.

“Brother, the _n_ _ér_ at the stall, he said I was cursed.”

Fëanáro felt his blood boil. Findis was a _child_. Findis was his _sister._

“Do not pay him any mind. His words are lies.”

“But he said—”

Fëanáro pulled his half-sister in close, bending down to glare into her eyes as he seethed.

“Are you not the daughter of the Noldor’s high king? The niece of the lord of the Vanyar? Their words are _nothing_ to you. They hold power over you only if you let them. There is only one truth that you need to know; that you are _loved_. And that by being loved, you are _great_.”

Findis stare up at him. There were still tears in her eyes, but beneath that there was something that resembled awe.

Ñolo started crying louder.

Fëanáro turned back to the child in his arms. If their people could not stand them, he would care for them enough for the entire Noldor clan. He would love them, even if no one else did.

“Get the food from my bag, he is due his lunch.”

* * *

“Say _aur_ _ë_.”

A blank stare.

“Ñolofinwë. Say _aur_ _ë_.”

More silence.

They had been attempting the exercise most of that afternoon with no success.

“What are you doing Fëanáro?”

Findis peaked around the door, clearly having just finished her lessons for the day.

He glanced up at her before returning his focus to the toddler, “Ñolo’s ten years old. He should be speaking by now.”

Fëanáro had drawn a picture of Laurelin beside a blue sky, and kept pointing to it, hoping that Ñolo would understand what he was trying to convey.

Findis sat down beside her brothers, brows furrowed in concentration, “Ñolo! Say _Findis_.”

He looked up at her blankly.

She was undeterred, “Alright, say _Fëanáro_.” She pointed to her brother, “Fëanáro.”

Fëanáro tried not to roll his eyes at her, “Findis, he’s not going to be able to say—”

“–aro.”

As one, Fëanáro and Findis turned around to their youngest sibling.

Findis lit up with excitement, “Fëanáro! Come on Ñolo, who’s that?” She pointed again at Fëanáro.

Ñolofinwë smiled up at his brother, “Náro!”

“Yes!” Findis cried, “Well done Ñolo!”

“Náro, Náro Náro!” Each time he said the shortened name, he clapped his hands together, smiling brightly the whole time. “Náro!”

Fëanáro was laughing as he picked the small boy up, spinning him around, indefinably happy. He knew then that he would do anything for his brother.

“Yes _pia hanno_ , well done!”

* * *

The mood was dark when Fëanáro came home from the forge.

Findis was sitting beside Ñolo at their dining table. His head was buried between his arms, sobs causing his whole body to shake.

The scene felt sadly familiar.

“What has happened?”

Findis looked up as Ñolo cried harder.

“Ñolo went down to Tirion to wait for you to come home. Some older boys came across him and called him…some mean names.”

Fëanáro began to seethe in anger.

His sister continued, “Then they pushed him over and stole a bit of coloured quartz he found and had planned to give you.”

Fëanáro went unnaturally still. He strode over to the table to pull Ñolo into an embrace.

That was enough to renew Ñolofinwë into another round of hysterics, but he still managed to speak amidst his sobs, “Náro, they said I was marred! That father didn’t love me and only kept me out of shame!”

_Little bastards._ They would not insult the house of Finwë, his _brother_ , and not face the consequences of such.

“Give me their names.”

After a number of deep breaths, Ñolo spoke quietly, “It was Rínaner, his father is one of the masons, and he was with two others. I think their names were Hyaro and Lanwion.” He look up at Fëanáro, face stricken, “They said that no one ever cares for a youngest son.”

Fëanáro felt his heart break. He didn’t know anyone as kind or as considerate as Ñolo, and that he was reduced to such a state over the thoughtless lies of children could only be called cruel.

“They are little fools who could not tell a Maia from a tree.” That won him a messy laugh from Ñolo. He continued, “You are so much more than a youngest son. You are my brother, and I do not know what life would be without you, those boys are simply too blind to understand that, to see how important you are to our family.” He rocked Ñolo back and forth, letting him calm down, “And even if father does not show it often, he loves you very much.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He sat a minute longer as Ñolo’s cries started to abate before rising, setting Ñolo back down on the chair he had emptied, Findis coming back over to give her brother a pat on the back, mimicking Fëanáro’s earlier actions.

“I will be back shortly.”

With that, Fëanáro left the palace to head back down into Tirion.

He came back two hours later, walking into the eastern living room, where Findis was teaching their brother a game which seemed to involve a collection of polished marbles.

He leaned down to give Ñolofinwë a final hug, “Those boys will not trouble you again.”

* * *

It was the anniversary of Finwë’s coronation.

Where important dignitaries and Tirion’s elite would have before been invited, instead their largest dining room has been set for four people. The scrape of cutlery was amplified throughout the near empty room, adding to the undercurrent of tension that permeated through the palace.

Fëanáro loved his father, he did. There was a time when family, to Fëanáro, was he and his father, walking up and down to the beach, laughing about anything and everything. But he couldn’t help but wish that Finwë tried harder, for Findis and Ñolo’s sakes if nothing else. He thought that it might do much to dispel many of the rumours that still plagued them.

But he didn’t. So instead, Fëanáro made one-sided conversation with Finwë about the smith Mahtan, and how he had agreed to take him as an apprentice.

Finwë nodded along, not quite paying attention.

Ñolofinwë’s eyes had kept glancing back and forth between his plate and his father, and, before Fëanáro could stop him, he opened his mouth to speak.

“ _Atya?_ Why are we cursed?”

The room went silent.

Fëanáro paused from when his glass was halfway to his mouth, Findis’ gaze flitted rapidly between her father and her brothers, and Ñolo sat, innocent as to the weight of his question.

Finwë was completely still.

Ñolo started to shift in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of sound, but still wanting a response. “ _Atya?_ ”

Finwë hadn’t moved, but silver tears had started to fall down his face. His eyes were fixed on the far wall, but they didn’t seem to see anything.

“I apologise.” Finwë’s voice was heavy and incredibly soft, “I must finish my meal in my room.”

With that, the high king rose from his seat and left his children alone. They could just about hear the fall of his feet as he slowly ascended the stairs.

Ñolofinwë was close to tears himself, looking over to his brother, face strewn in guilt. Findis only glared down at her plate.

“I… I didn’t mean to make him sad.”

Fëanáro moved closer to the younger boy, pulling him into an exhausted half-hug.

“I know Ñolo. I know.”

* * *

Ñolofinwë had pushed Findis. Findis had pushed him back.

It had started innocently when Findis came downstairs to see Ñolo trying to solve a wooden puzzle that Nerdanel had made for him.

He was clearly struggling to even get started on it, so Findis had come over and taken it off him to complete the first bit. Then she did the second. Ñolofinwë watched it all and, understanding what he was supposed to do, reached out to take it back.

Unfortunately, Findis had grown attached to the block puzzle, and didn’t want Ñolo to have it. That served to only aggravate her brother, who snatched it back.

It was then that the pushing had started.

What Findis hadn’t accounted for was that she was a lot bigger than her younger brother, and so when she shoved him, he had gone flying into a hall table, at which point a potted plant had fallen off the table and onto his foot.

Then the screaming had started.

“Náro! _Náro!_ ”

Footsteps came running down the stairs.

Fëanáro rushed into the hall, taking in a screaming Ñolofinwë, a tearful and frightened Findis, a broken vase, and blood staining the floor.

“What happened?”

Findis turned to him, stuttering out, “I… We were only playing, I promise! But Ñolo snatched and, and— I didn’t mean to! I promise!”

Fëanáro glared over at her. “Findis, he’s twenty-six, you have to be more careful!”

Chastened, Findis mumbled glumly, “I’ll go get the brush.”

With Findis moving off to clean the mess, Fëanáro turned his attention fully onto his brother. He carefully lifted Ñolo’s foot up to examine where the clay had cut into it. There were three wounds in total, none of them deep, but enough that the blood pouring from them made the injuries look worse than they actually were.

Fëanáro picked Ñolofinwë up, before realising he was getting to heavy to carry, and instead maneuvered him onto his back.

He didn’t know why that thought made him sad.

The shards were easy enough to remove from Ñolo’s foot. They sat in near silence as Ñolofinwë slowly calmed down and Fëanáro focused on his task.

Fëanáro spoke up, “You must be more careful Ñolo. I’m not always going to be here to watch over you.”

Ñolofinwë looked up sharply, expression one of stark fear.

“No! You can’t leave! It’s always supposed to be you and me, even when there’s no one else.” He reached out to grab onto Fëanáro’s sleeve. “Tell me that you’ll always be here!”

Fëanáro took in the pained look on his brother’s face and felt vague guilt. They may have been the only ones in the world who knew what it was like for loved ones to leave, willingly or otherwise.

But he knew that it was a conversation they needed to have. Even if he knew that it would be best left for another day. Even if neither of them wanted to have it.

He reached out to tousle Ñolo’s hair. “Very well. I endeavour to always be here for you.”

And he was. Even to his own detriment.

* * *

Ñolofinwë could count on one hand the number of times his father had tucked him into bed.

Like most things, it was a task that had been silently delegated to Fëanáro.

However, there were certain times when Ñolofinwë’s door would slowly creek open, and his father would come shuffling in.

When those times occurred, Finwë would always act in a similar manner: he would sit on the edge of Ñolo’s bed, gently stroke down his head, and speak only a few words.

“Take care, Arakáno.”

It was one of the few times Ñolofinwë was called by his mother-name. The whispered name that Fine had long failed to disclose.

Ñolo never knew whether or not to be comforted by the visits.

* * *

“Náro!”

He had been hoping for another hour or so in bed.

“Fëanáro! Wake up! I have to give you your birthday present!”

A weight landed on him, heavy enough to steal both his breath and the last remnants of sleep.

“And it could not have waited until breakfast?”

“No! You have to open it now! I want you to see it before anything else.”

Sitting halfway up, he looped his arms under Ñolofinwë to stand him back up, and was slightly disheartened to see how much harder it was becoming to do so.

He turned to sit on the edge of his bed, only to nearly loose an eye as he came face to face with a rectangular box, poorly wrapped.

He looked up at his brother, smirking, “You couldn’t have asked Findis to wrap it?”

Ñolo glared back, “She can wrap her own present, this one’s from _me!_ ”

“Very well. The wrapping is not even that bad.” It was.

Taking the present, Fëanáro unwrapped it to find a picture which had been encased in glass, seated carefully in a box full of cotton.

When he realised what he was looking at, Fëanáro wanted to cry.

“It’s—”

Ñolofinwë smiled, “It’s your family!”

Carefully sketched out by Ñolofinwë’s hand was Finwë, Fëanáro, and Míriel. They all stood clustered together in what looked to be the garden of their home, bright smiles on their faces. The detail on the page was extraordinary for all the age Ñolo was, but what was more impressive was the care he had clearly taken in the colouring, the shading of Míriel’s hair exactly as Fëanáro remembered from childhood.

“Ñolo—”

“Because everyone always talks about my mother I wanted you to know that I still remember Míriel.” When he saw Fëanáro had started to cry, much of his enthusiasm died. “Because, you once said that you wished she was still here, and I know that you miss her like I miss Indis, and I wanted to make you happy and…” His voice shrunk to a whisper, “Do you like it?”

Fëanáro turned to him, filled with love for his brother. He smiled, “I love it Ñolo, thank you so much.”

Ñolo grinned in returned, while Fëanáro continued, “There’s only one thing wrong with it though.”

“Really? What? What is it?”

Fëanáro pulled Ñolo onto the bed to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders, “It’s not my _whole_ family. _You_ should be there. And Findis, of course.”

Ñolo’s smile could have rivalled Laurelin and the height of its waxing.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.”

He smiled down at the picture, fiddling with his hands in barely controlled excitement, “I’ll know for again. Next time I’ll put myself in, and Findis too. And,” he paused, hesitant but hopeful, “my mother as well.”

Fëanáro smiled back, “Of course. Without her, we wouldn’t have you.”

* * *

Fëanáro was sitting in Mahtan’s forge, engraving the last decorations on a mirror frame when his brother came striding in.

The first thing that was wrong was the dark look on Ñolo’s face. Then a book was throw across the room and into the wall.

“Why doesn’t he _care?_ ”

Fëanáro hated that he immediately knew what the problem was.

“I try so _hard_ all the time but he never _cares!_ ”

There were no tears, just simmering rage. Someone who was about to give up.

Fëanáro walked over to the book, picking it up gently and briefly leafed through it. It was filled with sketches Ñolo had clearly put much time into. Careful landscapes of Oromë’s woods, sketches of buildings in Tirion. Portraits of his father, Findis, Fëanáro, and another _n_ _ís_ who could only be Indis. He had clearly been talking to Ingwë to get the drawing as accurate as possible.

Indis’ continued absence was a mystery; the Valar remained silent on the matter. Another curse laid upon them.

The book was beautifully presented and bound. It had clearly been intended as a gift.

Ñolofinwë paced the length of the forge. Stopping occasionally as if he wanted to strike at something.

It was entirely unlike him. Fëanáro was worried.

“Ñolo, will you not still yourself and tell me what troubles you?”

Ñolo had his eyes fixed on the nearby embers, and it took a while before he spoke.

“He… Ingwë was visiting _atar_ and we spoke for a while. I showed him a landscape of Túna I was working on and he seemed impressed. He mentioned that if I had skill in portraits I should consider binding them into a book.” He took a shuddering breath before continuing. “So I did. And when I was working on it, I though _atar_ might appreciate pictures of _amm_ _ë_ that he could keep for himself. So I thought to gift them all to him, my first proper work. I wanted my father to be part of that. But…”

“Ñolo—”

“He hardly looked at it! Not a kind word! I worked on the portraits for _months,_ but he didn’t care. No matter what I do he never notices it, never notices _me._ Most days he can barely look at me! I’m the shameful second son who brought doom on us.”

He had begun to shake, and his voice broke, “I didn’t…I didn’t _mean_ to kill _amm_ _ë_. Fëanáro, I promise I didn’t!” He slumped against the wall, hands pressing into his face and curling into himself.

Fëanáro’s heart ached, “Oh Ñolo.” How often had he said those words to himself? Doubtless as much as Fëanáro did.

Fëanáro walked over and sunk down beside his brother. He leaned against his Ñolo, their heads pushed together in a welcome pressure.

“You didn’t kill Indis. It was sad and it was horrible, but it was not _you_. The people who know that are the ones that matter. _Atar_ loves you, I know he does. But he has known little aside from grief, and that grief has changed him. I wish with all my heart that you knew how deep the love of Finwë runs, but until the day that he opens his heart again, please know that there are other here for you, who love you. Your pictures are beautiful, they always are. One day, _atar_ will see that and he will see you.”

Ñolo turned red-rimmed eyes towards him. “But… If he never does… Fëanáro, how can I live when this shadow hangs over me?”

Fëanáro brought their foreheads together, making sure Ñolo didn’t avoid his gaze. “Ñolo. You are a very good and a very kind person. You are the best of us. I know that one day, you will be one of the greatest among the Noldor, for no other reason than you know your heart, and you know right from wrong. People will one day see that, and the shadow which you believe lords you will be as a passing memory. You will never faulter, and even if you do, I will always be there to guide you when days are dark or deeds are ill.”

The younger sniffed a few times, letting Fëanáro’s words take root. “Do you mean that?”

“Have I ever led you wrong?”

Ñolofinwë smiled as he took the question as the answer it was intended.

Fëanáro tousled his brother’s hair, “Enough crying now _pia hanno_.”

Ñolo half-heartedly brushed his hand away, “I’m almost as tall as you.”

“And yet here you are, my _pia hanno_ still.”

* * *

By the time Fëanáro was officially released from Mahtan’s apprenticeship, the ill rumours surrounding the house of Finwë had quieted considerably.

Mahtan had nothing but praise for him, and many of the other Noldor had become more accustomed to Finwë’s children, in part due to Fëanáro’s clear skill at the forge. He had even begun taking commissions.

Nerdanel was also a regular fixture at the palace and about Tirion as she melded seamlessly into their trio. Findis remarked on more than one occasion that Nerdanel had more sense than the other three put together.

True or not, she had undoubtedly made Fëanáro’s days brighter.

Despite that, not all was right. There were still unsavoury murmurs from disreputable sources, and Finwë was as reclusive as always. But, for the most part, the royal family was accepted back into Noldor polite society.

This meant that when Fëanáro’s apprenticeship ended, there was a small celebration at the palace.

It was strange to see a ballroom that actually had Eldar dancing in it.

Findis was thrilled with the guests and the attention. It seemed that she never left the dance floor.

Ñolofinwë was less enthusiastic, and instead stayed close to the room’s edges, making an attempt to meld into the wall.

It was not enough to hide from Fëanáro.

“ _Pia hanno_ , please don’t look so sad during my party. I had hoped that you would enjoy some company, those who don’t live in the same house as you.”

Ñolo glanced up, then turned back to the floor, looking abashed over the fact that he had been caught on.

“It’s not that I don’t like other people, or dancing. I just…this is all so different.” He mumbled.

Fëanáro made a noise of understanding, before looking about the room. He smiled and gestured over to the other side of the room where a girl was standing, likely by her parents, and fiddling with silver ribbons that had been wound into her hair.

“What about her? She seems about your age. And she looks almost as lonely as you do.”

Ñolo looked over, and seemed shocked that he had missed her. When he spoke, he sounded incredibly uncertain. “Do I just…ask her?”

Fëanáro titled his head back in laughter, “It certainly seems a good place to start!”

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Then we will both stay up late bemoaning her lack of good taste.” Fëanáro looked back to the girl and smirked, “But I think that is unlikely.”

“Why?”

“Because she keeps looking over at you.”

Ñolofinwë’s face heated into a blush as he stole a look at the girl, before just as quickly looking away. Fëanáro grasped his shoulder in support before nudging him on.

He waited a moment, then another, before taking a deep breath and started to walk over.

And so went the first meeting of Ñolofinwë and Anairë.

* * *

Fëanáro had arrived back later than intended.

Ñolo had waited up for him, stretched out on the divan in the living room.

The door clicked closed behind the elder, and a voice spoke up, “Were you out with Nerdanel again?” Ñolo was smirking, that was never good.

“Yes.” Fëanáro answered carefully, “I was.”

“And that went well?”

“It did.” Fëanáro became firmly suspicious.

Ñolo sat up and brought something out from behind his back. “Then you didn’t show Nerdanel this?” It was a roll of paper containing Fëanáro’s first and only attempt at poetry.

Fëanáro’s heart stopped for a brief second, before he glared down at his brother, gritting out, “Ñolofinwë Arakáno, you give that to me right now.”

“No.”

“Ñolo—”

“I’m telling Findis.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Fëanáro rushed towards the divan, but Ñolo was already up and moving.

Despite being the younger, Ñolo was taller than his brother by a decent margin, and utilised it when he held the page up and just out of Fëanáro’s grasp.

Even reaching up as far as he could, the paper was just an inch out of reach.

Frustration and incredulity warred inside Fëanáro. “You are a terrible child! Who raised you?”

Ñolofinwë had his eyes scrunched up in mirth and so he missed when his brother sunk back down, only to tackle them both towards the floor.

They fell down together, landing tangled on the floor and laughing the whole time.

* * *

Ñolofinwë’s birthday was seldom marked.

Even a century later, the horror and grief that had sprung from Indis’ death was too close for most people to acknowledge her son on that anniversary.

Even Findis was more morose when the day came around.

Fëanáro was not most people.

Ñolo’s door was closed but unlocked. Fëanáro knocked twice before he heard the invite in.

Leaning in through the doorway, he greeted his brother. “Happy birthday, _pia hanno_.”

Ñolofinwë looked up suddenly from where he had been half-engrossed in a book and when he saw who it was, a smile brightened on his face. “Náro!”

“Did you think I would forget?” Fëanáro smirked.

“No, but I had assumed you would be with your new wife, getting lunch or out riding or whatever married Eldar do.”

“She’s not _that_ new anymore,” He paused, quieting, “and some things are more important than afternoon rides.” Fëanáro passed the box over to his brother. “Here.”

The box itself was made of polished oak, finely carpentered in what looked to be Nerdanel’s style. Inside was a set of paintbrushes, crafted and engraved by Fëanáro himself. The metal looked to be platinum and the hairs of each brush were incredibly soft. The detailing was elegant and Ñolofinwë knew that Fëanáro had to have spent a long time practicing to get the patterns of the handles just right. To the right buyer, their worth would be vast.

“A crafts master should have the tools to match his skill.” Fëanáro grasped onto Ñolo’s shoulder, smiling at him almost knowingly. “You are very talented with the brush Ñolofinwë, persevere at it.”

Ñolo sat stunned, holding what might have been the dearest present he had ever received. “Fëanáro, I don’t…. _Thank you_.”

Fëanáro leaned closer to his brother, lightly knocking the side of their heads together. “It was my pleasure.”

The silence stretched on comfortably, before a loud noise startled them both. Someone had knocked on the door of the palace. The brothers moved to Ñolo’s window, which conveniently overlooked their front entrance.

“Who would come _here_ , today of all days?” Ñolo turned to ask Fëanáro, before looking back outside.

The _n_ _ís_ , for it was a _n_ _ís_ , had removed her hood, and raven curls tumbled down as she greeted one of their few servants.

With the hood down, her features became clear, and Fëanáro grinned as he turned to his brother, who had slowly began to blush. It could only have been one person.

“Anairë.”

* * *

There were times, scarce times, after Ñolofinwë and his siblings all lived in their own homes, that they would be invited to the palace for dinner.

None of them ever knew what prompted the visits, but they always showed up.

The meal always felt stilted to Ñolo. Findis divided her time between glaring at her plate and glaring at her father, Nerdanel wasn’t always present, but when she was, Ñolo could tell she struggled to think of anything to say to Finwë and her mind was likely half focused on her current art project. Finwë tended to remain silent during the dinner, nodding along when someone spoke to him and holding what looked to be a genuine interest in what was being said to him. Occasionally, he even ventured forth to ask a question. However, he was also easily confused, his mind almost scattered, and when he did speak, it was mainly to discuss Fëanáro’s fields of study. Language and smithing were frequent topics.

Fëanáro was the only one who ever seemed glad to be there, happy that his family could sit together in unity. To Ñolo, it seemed that he overlooked the fact that most conversations at the table hinged entirely on the investment of Fëanáro.

Ñolo himself usually sat in silence, speaking only when directly addressed, and when he married Anairë and brought her along, he kept conversation between the two of them. Sometimes Nerdanel joined in.

It was a painful evening to endure, but the dinners made Fëanáro happy. And for that, Ñolo was willing to bear through a few hours of halted conversations.

* * *

The only sounds throughout the house were the screams of Nerdanel.

The labour had started the previous morning, and continued well into the mingling.

Fëanáro had not known childbirth to last that long.

Findis had arrived not long after the labour started, embracing her brother before rushing into the room to assist the midwives and her sister-in-law.

Ñolo sat beside his brother, where he had been since Nerdanel’s waters broke. With each scream, Fëanáro’s hand seemed to grow tighter around his own, yet he kept staring at the wall, tense with emotion.

Ñolo found that he had no words to offer in comfort. Memories of childhood whispers haunted him as well.

Hours later, when Telperion’s light had just begun to fade, the screams stopped, and Fëanáro jumped up from his seat, bringing Ñolofinwë up with him.

There was a moment of silence which stretched on for an eternity, when Ñolofinwë slowly turned to Fëanáro. His voice was measured and quiet when he spoke.

“Brother. Whatever happens next, I will be with you.”

They shared a look. Fëanáro was terrified and his eyes were glazed. Nails bit into Ñolo’s hand.

The was a noise from the room as the door burst open and Findis threw herself into her eldest brother’s arms. She was crying, but her smile was undiminished.

“Náro, you have a son!”

A bright smile broke through the clouds of Fëanáro’s face, before pausing. He half whispered, “And Nerdanel?”

“Oh! She lives! Fëanáro, they both live!”

Then there was nothing but laughs and joyous tears between the siblings as they held each other tight.

Soon enough though, Fëanáro pulled away. “I…I have to see them.”

Findis chuckled, “Yes, your wife is probably wondering what has become of you! Go.”

With their half-brother left, the children of Indis embraced once more.

“They were wrong. Findis, they were all _wrong_.”

“Yes. They were.”

* * *

While Fëanáro worked at his smithy, and Ñolofinwë his easel, Findis instead turned her pursuits toward academia and diplomacy.

She became the Noldor’s voice in Valmar, strengthening ties that were weakened by her mother’s death, and doing her best to unite a people that had felt themselves long divided.

Findis was popular amongst the Vanyar, at the cost of lengthened absences from Tirion.

She found the most striking thing about Valmar, aside from the many Eldar who shared her hair, was the noticeable presence of the Valar.

Manwë and Varda were frequent guests in Ingwë’s halls, and during that time, Findis observed a removed kind of wisdom in the two. Despite herself, she found that her respect for the Powers grew.

When she came home, Findis would regale her brothers with tales of Valmar, and the Valar who dwelt so close.

Ñolofinwë expressed a minor interest.

Fëanáro was continually dismissive.

* * *

Finwë’s gaze was distant, unfocused. “And tell me Curvo, does Ñolofinwë still paint?”

“Yes _atar_. He exhibited some of his works to the Teleri who visited last month.”

“Hmmm, that is pleasing to hear.”

Fëanáro never brought any of his sons on these visits. The only time Finwë saw his grandchildren was during sessions of court, and then he was always hidden beneath courtesy and the title of High King.

They sat in silence again. In the distance, water could be heard running from a fountain.

“I know Ñolo would appreciate it if you were to visit him.”

Finwë seemed to consider this for a long time, but eventually he replied.

“No. I do not think that that would be appropriate.”

Fëanáro nodded, “Very well.”

It was the answer he had come to expect.

* * *

Findekáno was three hours old and had not stopped crying.

Ñolofinwë had taken him to allow Anairë much needed rest, but to his own increasing distress, he could not calm his son.

It had been nothing short of a miracle when Fëanáro showed up at his doorstep, claiming he had left some of his tengwar notes after his visit the other week. Ñolo would later think it some sort of paternal instinct that lead him there instead.

Regardless, when the door opened, Fëanáro saw his brother looking more unkempt and stressed than he had been before in his life.

Ñolo’s face was fallen in defeat and his voice was near breaking when he half-cried, “Náro, he won’t stop crying I…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be a father.”

Moving quickly past his initial shock, Fëanáro was sedate when he answered, hands held out in a pacifying fashion.

“Calm down Ñolo, doubtless he can sense your fear and that’s heightening his. Here, pass him over.”

Ñolo all but thrust the small child into his brother’s arms. Fëanáro brought Findekáno close into his chest, directing Ñolo into the house to sit down in the living room. Once settled on the divan, Fëanáro started rocking the baby back and forth gently, shushing noises filling the room with a soft noise.

Miraculously, Findekáno began to quiet.

Ñolofinwë slumped against the back of the settee, hands coming up to pull loose strands away from his face.

“This is the first time he has been silent. How can you still him so easily?”

Fëanáro shrugged, “It comes with practice, everyone struggles with this at the beginning.”

“You were so natural with Nelyo, even from the first.”

His brother smiled fondly, not taking his eyes of Findekáno, “Yes, but I already had practice.”

_Oh._ Ñolo realised. _Of course._

They sat in silence for a moment longer, before Ñolo murmured, “I am terrified Náro. He is so small but he needs so much, and I don’t know if I…” He trailed off, biting his lip before continuing. “I don’t want to be the father Finwë was.”

Fëanáro glanced over, frowning. “It is natural to be frightened brother. But do you love him?”

Ñolo’s response was instant, eyes fixed on his son. “Completely.”

“Then the rest will follow. You are a kind person, I know that fatherhood will not be a task for you. Trust yourself more.” With that, he moved Findekáno back over to Ñolofinwë.

The baby was passed seamlessly between the brothers. In Ñolo’s arms, he curled into his father’s chest.

“See? He is calm now. The problem is not you.”

Ñolo ran a hand over the tuff of hair that was so like his. “I was surprised someone that small could be so loud.”

“Then you should have been in our house the first time Nerdanel tried to put Tyelko to bed.”

They both chuckled over the joke, taking care not to wake Findekáno.

In that small room, it was tranquil.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

(By the time Irissë arrived, Ñolofinwë’s fears had been left long in the past and he showed his daughter to her brothers and cousins with a practiced ease.

“I knew you would be a natural at this Ñolo.”

“Of course I am. I learned how from you.”)

* * *

Findis’ wedding was an intimate, yet merry affair.

Her wife was half-Vanyar, half-Teleri, and was the only Eldar there who seemed to be at ease with all the Noldor guests.

Cestarë had engaged her new father-in-law in conversation as Findis continued to pointedly ignore him, busying herself instead by helping Anairë carry chairs back into the new house. Turukáno was hiding behind Anairë’s skirts as he kept glancing over at Cestarë’s niece Elenwë, attempting to hide his blush.

It was only at Fëanáro’s insistence that Finwë had been invited at all. An argument had nearly erupted when Findis insisted to her brother that he would be the one to give her away, not her father.

He relented on the compromise that Finwë be allowed to attend.

Findis said she would invite Finwë. She never promised her brother that she would interact with him.

Luckily, Cestarë was social enough for the both of them.

Despite that, Fëanáro pulled Findis to the side, debating with her in hushed tones.

“He is your father and he loves you Findis. You could at least _pretend_ to tolerate him for one day.”

Findis returned with an incredulous look. “Why? He never took an interest during my courtship, nor my travels to Valmar, or even my study of our people’s lore. That was all _you_. You are the one I want here Fëanáro, not him.”

Fëanáro had no answer for that. She returned to the guests before he did.

It struck Fëanáro in that moment that he was the only child of Finwë who had any sort of relationship with him. It saddened him, but it didn’t shock him.

(If he had known of the seeds of discord that had be sown between he and his sister that day, he would have held her tighter when they parted.)

* * *

For the most part, Finwë enjoyed the company of his grandchildren.

The ones who came to visit him, at least.

Fëanáro was the one responsible for those trips. Ñolofinwë had forgiven their father for his inattentiveness, but had grown into an Elda who was a stranger to him.

Nelyo frequently accompanied his father when they visited the palace and, consequently, Findekáno would join them.

Makalaurë would be there occasionally, along with the twins.

A minor incident had occurred when Turukáno had brought Elenwë to the palace for the first time. Finwë had taken one look at the couple and immediately retreated back to his room. Face grim and completely silent.

There was nothing to be done about it. On their way home, Fëanáro had gently explained to them that it was through no flaw in Elenwë, and that they shouldn’t take it as a sign of disapproval.

Regardless, from that point on when Fëanáro went up the hill, the couple instead visited Tyelko.

* * *

The shadow had again descended. Melkor was unchained, left free to wander Aman.

Fëanáro began to despair of the Valar more and more, and his tirades grew in intensity and mistrust. Meanwhile, Findis doubled down on her own support of the Powers.

Consequently, Ñolo became the designated mediator between the two.

“But even you can’t guess at the Valar’s will.”

“So you think it is right that the greatest evil known to Eä walks unhindered amongst our people, our children?”

“If Lord Manwë has decreed it so, then he must think it is safe, and that’s good enough for me.”

“ _Good enough_.” Fëanáro spat as he pushed his chair back to stride around the room, “Why must we always settle for _good enough?_ Year in and year out, we remain in this land, in blind servitude to Powers who will not let us leave. Who will not allow us the freedom to _choose_. We sit, and we settle, obedient like dogs, without ever asking _why_.”

Findis glared up at him. “Careful brother, that is treasonous talk.”

Ñolofinwë felt a shiver run down his spine, chilled by the open hostility his siblings showed to each other.

He held out his hands, attempting to placate them. “Please, I have you both together less and less these days. Can we not waste this time in hurtful debate?”

The silence stretched on. Fëanáro glanced over to Ñolofinwë, and his expression seemed to soften.

“Very well Ñolo. If you wish it, let there be no more talk of Melkor or the Valar.”

The three settled back, talk turned to Curvo and his latest creation in the forge.

There was peace, but all could sense its fragility.

* * *

The Silmarils were crafted, and Fëanáro was entranced.

During their creation, he could speak of little aside from them, to Ñolo or anyone else.

“See Ñolo, three for the Eldar clans, three for the children of Finwë. Everything must be completed in threes.” Fëanáro held them up to Ñolo as if for inspection.

The brothers stood in a room in the upper halls of Fëanáro’s house, specifically constructed for the Silmarils to be displayed in. Wide windows angled the light of the Trees in such a way that the jewels reflected and embodied the hallowed glow. At certain times, it was almost as if they surpassed it.

And they were beautiful, no one could deny that. But the gleam in Fëanáro’s eyes when he looked upon them was disconcerting to Ñolo, and enough to turn him from their glow.

“They certainly are breath-taking.”

It seemed as if Fëanáro only half-heard him, gaze still fixed on the gem in his hand, “Yes, three jewels of my complete design. Free from influence of the Valar or the Quendi, or any other being of Eru’s design.” He paused, angling one of the jewels back and forth, Laurelin’s light catching on it and creating a kaleidoscope of colours across his face as the light refracted.

When Fëanáro set it down, it was as if he suddenly woke from sleep and realised where he was.

“But come now Ñolo, you were telling me of Turukáno’s engagement.”

He wasn’t, but any conversation that drew them far from the Silmarils was good enough for Ñolo.

“Yes, he hopes to arrange the wedding for next spring.”

They moved from the room into the house proper.

And if Fëanáro’s talk of the Valar and the perceived reach of their influence bothered Ñolo, he didn’t say.

* * *

Arakáno was decidedly bored when he and his father arrived at Fëanáro’s house. It was a hot day, and Ñolofinwë knew his son would be glad of the company.

They drew up to the estate and Ñolo opened the door, curious at the lack of servants.

He called out, voice echoing, “Náro? Are you in?”

Nerdanel appeared from one of their rooms. Ñolo smiled when he saw her before noticing a dark look on her face.

“Ñolo. Please speak to him, maybe he will hear sense from you when I am unable to reach him.”

Ñolo felt sick. He turned to his son, “Arakáno, why don’t you go and find your cousins?”

Arakáno must have sensed the tension in the house, because with no more than a wide-eyed glance, he disappeared back outside.

Ñolofinwë paced through halls that, for the first time in his life, felt unwelcome.

He reached the smithy, spotting his brother bent over the anvil, consumed in his work.

“Náro?”

Fëanáro didn’t turn, he didn’t perk up.

“Náro, I brought Arakáno with me. We hoped to see you.”

There was silence for a while more as metal was hammered into place. When Fëanáro spoke, it was not to Ñolo, but at him. “Ñolofinwë. It is good that you are here. Please, help me with this.”

Ñolo walked over, halting in place when he saw what Fëanáro was doing.

“Náro, are these…are these weapons?”

It was only then that Fëanáro turned to him. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. It was clear he hadn’t been sleeping. Yet he seemed almost manic.

“Brother, surely you have also noticed the silence of the Valar since the release of Melkor. They have grown complacent. They seek to control the Noldor.”

With every word, Ñolofinwë grew more troubled. “What are you talking about?”

“Melkor.” He spat the name as a curse. “It will always come back to Melkor. The Valar are fools, and they believe they know best. But they are wrong. They underestimate the depths of his evil, but we know it first-hand, my brother, and we have been left to pick up the pieces while great Manwë watches from above, doing _nothing_. The Noldor will suffer because of their incompetence, I have seen it.”

Ñolo didn’t know where to start with his brother’s words.

“But they have all but striped him of his powers, surely that, at least, will protect us without the need for the Noldor to draw swords.”

The look Fëanáro gave him was incredulous, before turning almost tortured. “He is the first enemy, a black scourge upon our land, and he walks the same land as my sons do. If the Valar won’t protect them, I will.” Fëanáro held his eyes tightly shut, lost somewhere Ñolofinwë didn’t know how to reach. “I will not lose my family because of their weakness.”

Ñolo grew frightened, and then disbelieving. He needed his older brother. The one who could always help him through a problem, who had always seemed so wise to the boy who had instead been named for it.

The Elda in front of him was not that brother.

Ñolo stuttered out, “Fëanáro, this talk disturbs me. Can you put in from your mind? For me?”

Fëanáro watched the flames for a second longer, and turned slowly. When he spoke, he sounded confused.

“Yes…yes of course _pia hanno_. You said you brought Arakáno? Come, I’m sure the twins will be glad of his company.”

Together, they left the forge.

Ñolo missed the look on Fëanáro’s face when he turned back to the unfinished sword.

* * *

The birth of Telperinquar brought some much-needed levity to Tirion.

When Fëanáro presented his grandson to Ñolofinwë, he seemed almost like himself again. Proud and warm, glad to see his brother.

“Curvo named him Curufinwë, which lost me a great deal of money to Nerdanel.”

Ñolo laughed, “He was always going to. Your family has far more skill at craft work than the naming of children.”

“And Findekáno was so original?”

“I take your point.”

They both laughed, an old argument which the brothers loved to repeat. Ñolo continued, “This works well, he will be an age mate to Itarillë.”

Fëanáro darkened then, “Findis has not yet visited. Too busy galivanting with the Vanyar, she could barely be called a princess of the Noldor these days.”

Ñolo shifted in place, the atmosphere turning from friendly to strained in an instant. It had not been the first time Fëanáro had disparaged of their sister so.

He tried to rationalise, “I’m sure she means no ill by it. I often leave her with the burden of our maternal relatives.”

“Yes, but _they_ are not your family Ñolo.” Fëanáro brought his brother’s chin around to meet his eyes directly, and madness glinted at him. “Remember that.”

* * *

In three months, Fëanáro had not left his house. If Russandol was to be believed, he scarcely left his study.

Ñolofinwë grew steadily more worried, he had seen behaviour such as that before.

It was that worry that brought him to Fëanáro’s house. It was midday, Laurelin at the height of its light. Ñolofinwë had gone when the rest were out, when Fëanáro should have been out.

There had been mounting political tension in Tirion, primarily concerning the Valar and their lack of intervention. Finwë was as absent as always, Findis’ focus was split. With Fëanáro absent, Ñolofinwë had been left to appease the crowds, his only help coming from Findekáno and Russandol which, while appreciate, wasn’t what he needed.

Findis had scoffed at him when Ñolofinwë shared his concerns, “If he wants to burrow himself away in his office, let him. It is not the first time a project has consumed Fëanáro, and if it causes him ill, it will be entirely his fault.”

Ñolo had gone anyway. Because when it came down to the crux of it, he would choose Fëanáro. Every time.

The grass was brown and broke easily beneath his feet. Despite the bright light Laurelin produced, the day was decidedly cold.

When he entered Fëanáro’s home, it was colder still.

Ñolo’s footsteps echoed against marble as he made his way up the stairs. Down the corridor, into the room of the jewels.

When he entered, his eyes took a moment to adjust. The curtains has been pulled tightly closed; the only light was that of the Silmarils, and it was blinding.

A chair had been pulled up right beside where the jewels were sat. On it was Fëanáro, hunched over and appearing as a covetous thief. His eyes were fixed on his creations, yet it was as if he did not see them.

Ñolofinwë kneeled down beside the chair. His throat was tight.

“Náro, will you not please come outside? Your sons miss you, _I_ miss you. I cannot do this alone, I need my brother.”

Fëanáro rested his hand on Ñolo’s head, turning slowly to face his brother. Yet it felt as if Fëanáro couldn’t see him. Ñolo felt so much younger than he actually was.

“Yes…yes Ñolo. We will lead them together, of course.”

Ñolo felt tears budding, and could only think, _lead them to what?_

* * *

Ñolo was standing in the Great Square when the light around them vanished.

The darkness that was left was deep and all-encompassing.

Eldar were screaming, some trying to light torches, others attempting to flee the city.

When the shock had passed, Ñolofinwë felt his knees go weak. He had never known fear as potent as it was in that moment.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he almost screamed before hearing a familiar voice, “Peace, Ñolo. Stay calm.”

He could have cried so great was his relief. Ñolo reached out to the hand, holding fast.

“Fëanáro! What has happened?”

“I don’t know for sure, but never have I before known a darkness such as this.” It was difficult to make out Fëanáro’s face, but as Ñolo steadily adjusted to the dark, he saw that his brows were furrowed. “It is almost…” He trailed off, eyes seemingly going distant and it looked to Ñolofinwë as if he were on the verge of a terrible truth.

His anxiety grew, “Almost what?”

“It is almost how _atar_ once described Cuiviénen to me.” He paused, and Ñolo strained to hear his next words. “Before they had the trees.”

The words chilled him as a horrifying truth crashed around them.

_Where are the trees? Where is the light?_

The brothers remained still amidst the rising chaos. An undetermined amount of time passed before the Valar descended and proclaimed the incomprehensible; a single, unutterable truth. The trees were both dead, destroyed by Melkor.

When they first heard, Fëanáro’s eyes shone not with grief, but with vindication. Ñolo felt then a great sense of loss. He had never been skilled in foresight, but even so, he realised in that haunted second that the reinforcement of all Fëanáro’s fears was the worst possible thing that could have happened, and that it would breed nothing but doom.

Almost immediately after he realised that, in a horrifying moment that felt like affirmation, the sound of a horse’s strides could be heard. Russandol dismounted and ran up to the brothers, Findekáno at his heels, breathless and distressed.

His expression was grieved and at once Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro knew what had happened.

“ _Atar_ , I am sorry. The king has fallen.”

* * *

Three siblings stood and mourned for their father. A father who was distant, and wearied, yet kind.

There was a long discussion as to where his body should be laid. In the end, it was decided that he should be placed on Túna’s peak, so as to always watch over the city he had helped build.

It was inoffensive, yet the ceremony was uncomfortably impersonal. Of the three, only Fëanáro looked truly grieved.

Afterwards, the siblings sat in the living room of their childhood home. The palace was as silent then as it had always been after Indis was lost. Sound was only present when the three of them had created their own joy.

“We will go east. We owe father much, least of all revenge.”

They had been at the circular discussion for an hour.

“ _You_ might Fëanáro. I remember an Elda who was near catatonic when I lost my mother. Who had his duties delegated among his staff, to my older brother, who was the one who truly raised me.” Findis sat with folded arms, always looking so assured in herself. But that day, Ñolo could see where the cracks lay.

“That may be true for you, but he was loved. At least in my house.” Even now, Fëanáro’s words felt half-twisted into insults. “I will see _Morgoth_ dead, I will see the Silmarils returned. One to each of Finwë’s children.” At the mention of the jewels, his body seemed to relax.

He looked into each of their eyes, almost pleadingly.

“Will you not follow me now?” His gaze lingered on Ñolo. “I need you both.”

Ñolofinwë had remained largely silent. His father was gone, but the Elda who had raised him remained. How could he not answer his plea?

Ñolo spoke up, “You have always had my loyalty Fëanáro. More than that, you will always have my love. If you believe exile to Middle-Earth is the destiny of the Noldor, I will follow you as my king.”

Fëanáro grinned. It was the first time he had smiled since Finwë had died.

“Then let the sons of Finwë march forth to glory on hither shores.”

Findis stood with her arms crossed, before sighing in defeat, “If you both truly mean to go then I will follow as well. My parents are dead, without my brothers there is little to keep me in Aman. My host is small, but I’m sure you will welcome it’s strength nonetheless.”

Her declaration shocked Ñolo.

He turned to Findis, “What of Cestarë?”

The cracks widened, and his sister looked truly pained, avoiding his stare, “Cestarë will follow if I ask her.”

Fëanáro nodded, appraising each of them.

“It appears that exile is to be the destiny of the Noldor, but it is not a bad fate.” He grasped onto their forearms. “To Endor then. And after, vengeance.”

From Angband, Melkor saw all. He smiled.

* * *

Ñolofinwë stood on the shores of Losgar. Cold, tired, and beyond grateful to have landed.

The crossing had not been easy, and the storms had only seemed to worsen the further east they ventured. Ñolofinwë despaired for his sister and his children, who had yet to face the cruel waves.

It was strange, that Fëanáro insisted that he alone of his house should make the first crossing.

Ñolo helped Russandol down from the weathered ship, noticing his nephew’s lingering glance back across the sea.

After the last of the Teleri boats had landed, Ñolofinwë searched for Fëanáro. He soon found him as his brother stood alone, not facing his sons or their people, but instead the dark mountain range to the north.

Ñolo was about to ask of the plans to make camp and the retrieval of the remaining Noldor, but Fëanáro spoke first.

“Burn the ships.”

All activity around them stopped.

“Fëanáro?”

“ _Atar?_ ”

A dangerous look had grown in Fëanáro’s eyes during the crossing, and the frenzy of the past year (of the past decade) suddenly came to its climax.

Fëanáro turned around, then started marching back and forth, a crazed energy sparking from him.

“The host of Findis will surely usurp us. They would take the weapons from our backs, they would take my _sons_.”

Ñolofinwë though himself to be trapped in a dream. Surely this couldn’t be real? Ever since the trees darkened his life had felt aberrant. A year ago his life was as unchanged as it had been since his birth. A year ago he lived safe and content with his wife and children—

_Wait._

Ñolo ran to stand in front of Fëanáro, trying to stop his ceaseless marching. His voice was frayed, he knew it was frayed, but he was beyond caring.

“Fëanáro, my children are still in Aman. You cannot suggest they walk! They would have to cross the Helcaraxë. That is suicide!”

Fëanáro didn’t still, eyes fliting about the camp. He couldn’t meet Ñolo’s gaze.

His lips curled up in a snarl, “No. No, they will not come. I will ensure that brother. We will burn the Teleri’s _gift_ and they will remain.”

Russandol spoke up, voice similarly caught between anger and shock, “ _Atar_ , they cannot! Have you forgotten the Valar’s Doom upon us? _Atya_ _please_ , Findekáno is still on that shore. We cannot leave him.”

The remainder of Fëanáro’s sons stood about him in similar states of confusion and growing fear. Whether for their father, their people, or their cousins, Ñolo couldn’t say. The break of the waves grew louder. Tyelpe appeared close to tears.

Ñolo hesitated, choosing his next words careful and speaking slowly, yet he knew his speech to be a desperate plea. He felt that one slip at that moment would send them all hurtling towards a vast abyss.

“Fëanáro, you are not yourself. My brother would never leave our sister, would never abandon her to death.”

The look Fëanáro gave him could only be described as one of pity.

“Ñolo. You must trust me. The people on _this_ shore are the ones important to me. I will protect you, even if you hate me for it.” He brought their foreheads together, “From the moment you were born, have I ever led you wrong?”

Ñolofinwë felt the tears run down his face, “Never, brother.”

Fëanáro smiled at him, shockingly gentle, “Good. Now, we must—”

He never finished his order. Ñolofinwë’s dagger slid cleanly between his ribs, piercing his heart and stopping all sound.

His sons stood in varying degrees of shock as Ñolofinwë held his brother tight, lowering them both to the ground, tears coming faster as his chest contracted in sobs.

“I’m sorry Náro, I’m sorry. But we cannot leave them. I will not be Finwë. I will not leave them.”

Fëanáro’s breathing came slower and slower, eyes glassing over. In the background, Curufinwë let out a yell of grief as someone drew their sword.

Ñolofinwë knew that this was the price that had to be paid. For the lives of his children, of his sister.

Fëanáro met his eyes then, and for a terrible moment they were clear, and it was like the _nér_ of the past hundred years was changed. As if a film had been lifted from his sight, and he was more like himself than he had been since before the trees were destroyed, before the Silmarils.

He was staring up at Ñolofinwë, smiling, the smallest trickle of blood falling from his lips. A similar stream of water from his eyes.

A shaking hand came up to rest against Ñolofinwë’s cheek, his thumb swiping at Ñolo’s tears. It was rough but strangely warm. A comfort that he thought had long been left in the past.

“ _Pia hanno_ —” Then the hand fell, and he was gone.

Ñolofinwë braced himself for his nephew’s blade, but none came near them. It was as if they were all held back by something.

There was smoke in the air, as if someone had lit a fire. For one moment, Ñolofinwë feared the ships were lost regardless.

But the smoke came instead from his brother, and even when his body caught aflame, Ñolo could only bring him close, holding tightly to the brother he had loved with all his heart.

_This is the price. I had to pay it._

The fire was over in a matter of seconds.

All that was left of Finwë’s sons was ash.

**Author's Note:**

>  _pia hanno_ \- little brother
> 
> if there are any tags i missed give me a shout!
> 
> apologies for the spelling and grammar mistakes i know are still there but i don't have the energy to fix


End file.
